


Just Along for the Ride

by Kinkshame_Heathcliff



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bartender Billy, Birthday Steve, Dry Humping, M/M, Mentions of Robin - Freeform, idk guys its just kinda sad kinda fluff and kinda horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinkshame_Heathcliff/pseuds/Kinkshame_Heathcliff
Summary: Perhaps it’s in this, one of life’s more embarrassing moments, that some truth is revealed. Hair quaffed to peaks once thought insurmountable, jeans fit just right, and shoes scuff free, yet here Steve was: totally, undeniably, alone.Or- Steve is solo drinking on his Birthday at the bar Billy works at.





	Just Along for the Ride

Perhaps it’s in this, one of life’s more embarrassing moments, that some truth is revealed. Hair quaffed to peaks once thought insurmountable, jeans fit just right, and shoes scuff free, yet here Steve was: totally, undeniably, alone. 

It’s kinda like getting stood up on a date, he thinks— not that he’d know, because up until this point Steve had never been stood up. But this isn’t a date, it’s his friends, and the pretense isn’t romance, it’s his birthday. It stings more, somehow. 

There’s something so ego destroying about birthdays. It’s a celebration of one year closer to your demise, an admission to the weakness of men and the inevitability of fading beauty. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much when Billy, wiping up a puddle of condensation uninterestedly, gives him a glance from across the bar he’s tending. There’s no venom in his gaze, no cocked eyebrow signaling a challenge, none of their old tensions fanned or fed; just what’s almost pity on his face as he looks at the trio of empty bottles to Steve’s right. Somehow that nips more. 

Steve downs the beer in front of him in one long swig. It’s hard not to be self deprecating about any of it. It’s actually impossible. 

Nancy is at college. Jonathan is at college. Jonathan and Nancy are at college together. 

Steve makes a vague gesture towards Billy, who, annoyingly, is still looking at him. He points at his empty drink and shrugs simultaneously. 

Billy shakes his head in a kind of bemused understanding. Steve hadn’t realized he was past the point of words, but his improvised sign language proved to be more comprehensible than his words sometimes were.

The dweebs were gone. All at different camps, or otherwise occupied. 

They also were minors, but that was an easy enough obstacle to deal with if they needed to. Steve was the King of fake ID’s and distracting bouncers.

Robin was—

Well, Robin kinda hurt the most. He’d unconsciously latched onto Robin way, way too much. Like full-on best-friend kinda shit, and she never seemed to mind. They always watched for girls together, and tossed jokes around easily. She was the peanut-butter to his jelly. 

Was. 

It was around 4 months ago that Robin announced she was making a trip to Chicago to see some band she liked. Steve had moaned unenthusiastically, but knew what she was really asking by telling him this bit of knowledge. 

It wasn’t a problem—he’d cover her shifts at the Video Store, and they’d catch up about what they’d both missed in a few days. 

Robin came back from Chicago with a new tightness across the apples of her cheeks. Like someone was pulling on strings across her face, like how news presenters and daytime TV stars look. She’d gushed about how good the band was, waxed poetic about it for the majority of the shift. For his part, Steve had recounted how he had to ask Mr. Sandertson to take his hands out of his pocket in the porn aisle. Robin laughed until she cried.

At around 9:45 as they started to close up, flicking off the neon signs in the windows, and restocking the deluge of returns from the bin, Robin began to talk about her trip again. This time she included something new. A girl she'd met in the crowd, a tall bleach blonde art student with tattoos of the runic alphabet peppered around her body. 

Her name was Rachel, and according to Robin, she was perfect.

Steve loved Robin as deeply as you can love a friend. He held her close to his chest and felt tears forming in his eyes as he hugged her in front of her car full to the brim with blankets, and pans, and suitcases of clothing and books. A one woman migration. It would be romantic if it wasn’t so devastating. 

So, as of last week, Robin was no longer a constant in his life, and that— that was gonna take some getting used to.

Billy sets down a fresh bottle with a clink, but makes no effort to walk back behind the bar. Instead he sets down a second bottle and drags a chair over from the table next to Steve’s. 

Steve, head in his hands, lifts his eyes to look at Billy. He wants to say: ‘please, just for once, leave me alone’, or maybe ‘I can’t believe my grandma is really dead’. Anything to divert or explain away his current state - but Billy, like usual, beats him to the punch. 

“Listen, I’m not asking you why you’re starting on what appears to be a helluva bender— frankly, I don’t wanna know— but what I do wanna know is how the fuck you’re getting home, because you're not driving.”

Billy takes a long swig from his bottle, and sets it back on the table lifting his other hand. He has the authoritative tone of a teacher or a police officer. It’s almost funny to hear it coming from him.

Steve doesn’t know when, or how, but Billy is dangling Steve’s keys from one hand. There’s no cocky grin on his face or jeer; it’s not a taunt so much as a fact. A fact that Steve was not driving home. 

So Steve takes another gulp from his beer and enjoys the cold froth in his mouth. Beer is so strange. It kind of numbs you to feeling some things, not unlike a winter’s day, yet warms you from the inside, making you more susceptible to other… things. 

Things like how he wants to tell Billy why he’s here, alone, drinking enough to make him forget the whole night. That’s something he’d never do sober— but here he is boiling up inside, wanting to share that he’s alone! On his Birthday! Wanting someone else to share his pain.

Tears feel like the onset of a fever, they pull on the corner of your eyes and boil out without any rational thought.

And he’s tearing up, he can feel it, he knows it, and there’s nowhere to hide at table in the middle of the bar. If there was a book of worst case scenarios, this would be in there.

Steve turns away and glances around the room. It’d be best if he maybe didn’t openly cry in front of Billy Hargrove, aka the main bartender at the only decent bar in Hawkins. He doesn’t have much dignity left, but he’d like to remain at least somewhat salvageable socially. 

The joint is mainly empty, the odd patron or two more absorbed by the game on tv than anything else, and Steve is thankful for that. 

The wave of emotion ebs so he turns back to Billy, drawing on whatever newfound clarity has replaced it. 

“I don’t think I’m who I am to other people anymore, or, I don’t think anyone who knew who I was and liked me feels the same way about who I am.”

“What the fuck, Harrington?”

Billy has his head tilted to the side a bit and his eyebrows are scrunched together in open confusion.

It’s almost a caricature of an emotion. 

He can’t help but smile at Billy, and that’s something nice. At least he’s smiled once on his birthday. 

In his defense, it had sounded better in his head.

“I dunno, Billy, I guess I thought that people still thought of me a certain way, like-like high school shit,” Steve gestures around the room to illustrate his point before continuing, “but clearly— they don’t.”

Billy’s expression doesn’t change.

“Listen, Harrington, if you’ve taken anything tonight I need to know now, because I don’t wanna deal with your rotting corpse on the floor when I come into my shift tomorrow, got it?”

“Fuck off, Billy! I’m not on drugs, I’m just, you know, a bit drunk!”

The gross creeping sadness is beginning to saturate into his vision again and Steve rests his head in his hands.

“I guess I can’t even be drunk on my fucking birthday.” 

Steve can hear Billy as he takes another swig from his bottle.

“So that’s what this is all about—Jesus, Harrington you’re a bit pathetic you know that?”

Steve is actually crying now. There’s some privacy, courtesy of his palms, and so long as he doesn’t make any sound he should be fine. It’s just so humiliating, and depressing and he can’t stop his head from banging around the thought that : no one gives a fuck about me!

“Seriously, Harrington, why wouldn’t you have invited people here? Why opt to get fucked up alone?”

Indignation crests like a wave over him, and in a moment of passion he looks up to confront Billy because—

“I did invite people! Fuck, I feel like I invited every person I’ve ever had a conversation with, and yet, yet, here —“

He makes a noise. A crying noise. But he did not sob, he didn't, he thinks he’d mentally disintegrate if he had. He just made a regular crying noise. 

Steve grabs his drink and tilts it up chugging until he downs the whole thing. He just doesn't want to fucking remember this night at all, would rather it be a headache and a trip to the toilet to spew his guts than a memory. 

Billy gives him the same look as earlier, the one Steve had thought was pity, but up close appears more appraising. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I’ve definitely had more than one conversation with you— in fact we’ve had quite a few, and I never received my invitation.”

Steve looks at him in shock, and wipes away the tears in his eyes.

“Well I- well, I guess I never thought to.”

"Ask me." Billy’s voice is a throaty whisper, but still holds an easy authority. 

And, maybe it was that easy. Maybe it could be that easy. 

Blood was racing through his veins, and his stomach was so warm from the alcohol, and his brain was so fuzzy, and he was so sad, but he found himself smiling, and holding back a giggle.

So why not? He deserved to be happy too. The men watching their game on TV were happy. Why couldn’t Steve be? 

"Billy, would you like to get drinks with me for my birthday?"

Billy shifts in his chair and bites his lip in a perfect tableau of consideration. 

"Lemme see what's on my schedule, but I think-- yeah, I might be free."

He’d leaned his head in considerably while responding, and now is merely inches from Steve.

Closeness makes you so aware of small things. The rate at which someone was breathing was an important thing to take notice of in basketball, showed how much they were exerting themselves. You could use it to your advantage sometimes, play mind games with your opponent. Steve could feel the warmth of Billy's breath on him, the thick air silently whispering on his skin. 

The door to the bar jangles open and Billy pulls back slightly. Not any drastic amount, but enough so that Steve no longer feels the presence of his air.

Billy puts a hand on Steve's shoulder as he gets up.

"I'll see you at the bar, just gotta take care of this customer first."

He winks at Steve and ambles back to his post.

Steve blinks a few times and lets the happenings of the last few minutes sink in. Usually, being drunk makes him oddly like a sponge, but for some reason his brain is struggling to grasp anything. Or wait, maybe it’s the other way around. 

Billy is being nice to him. It’s not like Billy went out of his way to pick fights after high school, but typically in their rare run in with each other he’d still drop comments and give him looks. Little taunts. Tiny flickers of the wildfire that was their rivalry. 

He finishes his drink and watches Billy. Watches him smile at the man, and perfectly fill a glass from the tap before handing it to him. Watches his arms tense as he gets change from the register. His physique hasn’t faded at all since high school; if anything he’s grown into it more. Less pitbull, more german shepard. 

Billy looks up and catches his eye, smiles at Steve before returning his attention to the man. 

It’s such an odd thing to be jealous of a total stranger, but it sparks something in him, a memory of senior year when he’d first noticed Nancy. He’d gone from winning her over to watching her go off with Jonathan. He’d watched how easily they’d talked, how smart they both sounded spouting off theories about music and their futures. He’d felt a similar pang of jealousy then.

Eventually Billy finishes up and walks back over with a swagger in his step.

“I hope I’m not too late for those Birthday drinks you invited me to, Stevie?”

He places the glasses on the table, and Steve knows this is probably the point of no return for him. Drink this beer and the night will be a kaleidoscopic blur. But, fuck it, right?

“Thanks for coming, Billy.”

Billy slurps his beer and gives him a wink. It’s a little gross, but also a little endearing. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Harrington.”

Steve smiles into his drink and enjoys the growing looseness spreading throughout his body. Being tipsy and being drunk are such different animals. 

“Not to harsh your mood or anything, but where the hell is that chick from the video store you’re always with?”

He may not have meant to, but it actually does put a bit of a wet towel on the energy.

“Robin’s off- well, Robin found her somebody and went to go be with them.”

Billy looks a little confused, and Steve can’t quite place why. Billy comes into the video store regularly enough, so he must’ve noticed it’s only Steve working there now.

But maybe that’s just a Steve thing. A week long absence doesn’t feel like a notable change to other people. For him it felt like ages. 

“The two of you were connected at the hip, I know you’re not the quickest on your feet, but how the hell did you let some guy woo her from yah?”

Steve starts to laugh, but chokes on his drink. He coughs for a few moments, trying to regain his composure, but can’t keep the smile from his lips.

“It’s— well, Robin and I were just friends, and I’m pretty sure I’m not her type.”

Billy shakes his head.

“So let’s tally, first Nancy, now Robin— both stolen from under you. You’re pathetic Harrington!”

And this is the Billy he remembers. Always poking and prodding at Steve like he’s roadkill. Steve goes to say something, but Billy puts a finger on his mouth.

“You’re employed, you’ve got a great body, personality is a bit so-so, but it’s not the worst, and you drive— correct me anywhere I’m wrong, but what’s going on, Harrington? Why the constant strikeouts?” 

Billy removes his finger from Steve’s mouth and instinctively Steve runs his tongue over the spot. Billy’s eyes are fixed on his lips. 

“It wasn’t like that, Billy! I mean, maybe you’re right about Nance’, but Robin, well Robin doesn’t even-“

“What Harrington? What’s she not getting from yah?”

“Fuck— Robin doesn’t even like boys!”

Billy looks at him and presses his lips into a straight line eyes kinda bubbling with something.

There’s a quiet, tense moment, and his tone is clipped and hard when he responds, “That information needs to be kept personal, Harrington.”

Steve can feel that awful cold flush of dread like when Hopper caught him and Tommy drinking when they were 13. It’s such a gross feeling. 

“Fuck, Billy, I- I’m —“ His brain is oscillating like the wheel of fortune, trying to land on the right thing to say, but it’s just. not. working. right. “— you’re right, wasn’t thinking.”

“I know you weren’t.” Billy picks his drink back up, which feels like a good sign to Steve, “That kinda shit can- it can ruin someone’s life.”

There’s a story there, but Steve knows it won’t come out on it’s own, and he’s in no mindset to pry.

Billy snorts out a laugh.

“Makes more sense now. Nerdy Nancy and Lezzie Robin.”

“Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t say anything?”

Billy gestures around the space.

“You shouldn’t, you’re lucky you told me because I won’t tell anyone, and look around dingus— the place is empty.”

Billy was right, the few scattered other patrons had abandoned their spots, leaving Billy and Steve as the sole occupants. The TV in the corner was still playing, though, as was the music, so it didn’t feel as empty as it was.

“Just confirming this - Robin, band geek, clarinet lesbian, managed to find a beaux in this fucking town, but you, Steve Harrington, can’t find one?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Billy, I get it, I’m pathetic, you’ve said it already, could you give me a break, it’s-”

“Your birthday. I know.” 

Steve’s a quick drinker, and as such has made short work of the bottle before him. He’s also entirely drunk now. When he closes his eyes he feels like he can feel the Earth spinning. He’s ambivalent about that.

“So what is it then, Stevie. Are the girl’s here all on crack, or are they just not your type?”

“God you’re such a— it’s not that!”

Billy’s gotten up in his personal space again, it’s an annoying habit. He always did it during basketball, and even in the showers after practice. 

“Than what is it?”

“I don’t know what I want! I’m 22, I work at a fucking video store, no fancy degree to my name, no- no future!”

Billy’s pulling that face from earlier again, and maybe it’s one he wears regularly because three times in one night feels pretty standard. His eyebrows kinda scrunch, and his eyes squint a bit. Like he’s looking for something.

“So you can’t find a girl because: you don’t know what you want?

Steve lets out a sigh, because the constant inquisition is getting to be exhausting. 

“No. I don’t Billy. Shit, what’s your excuse then?! Why don’t you have one?”

Billy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend, Steve? Been watching me?”

He has such a big fucking mouth. How do you explain a chart tallying every girl Robin’s heard talk about getting rejected by Billy? It’s not a normal thing to do, but Robin and Steve weren’t normal people. Fuck, Hawkins, Indiana is the least normal town. 

“No— I, It’s just, I think Robin mentioned it?”

“Huh, Robin said something? Well, I stand by what I’ve said, this town’s full of cows— not my type.”

Steve can tell Billy didn’t buy it, but he’s hoping he won’t push it further because he has no clue how he’s gonna explain that away. 

“What is your type then Billy?” Steve huffs, “You’re always too good for anyone that shoots their shot with yah.”

Billy looks at him with a grin spreading across his face. 

“Have you ever been to the west coast, Harrington?” Billy’s affixing him with another trademark grin, one that’s all teeth and no sincerity “Days go by easier, the booze go down better, and the girls are much, much hotter. Once you have that, why even bother with the garbage around here?”

“Do you ever get tired of your ‘Hawkins sucks!’ schtick? Like, jesus dude, I think you’ve milked it for all it’s worth!”

Billy looks a bit taken aback, but then leans back and laughs. It’s a real laugh, and it’s not mean at all, which is enjoyable. Enjoyable and different.

“I don't wanna hear anything from you, Harrington, you failed Geometry three times.”

“Fuck off Billy, how the fuck was I supposed to understand ‘proofs’ and that other bullshit.” 

“The same way everyone else does.”

Steve smiles at him and feels so warm. 

Fuzzy and full and happy. 

“Wait, wait, wait, we need to rewind— gimme a straight answer,” He fixes Billy with his full attention, trying to steer the conversation back to where it’d began, “there’s seriously no one in Hawkins you’re even remotely interested in?”

“Why do you care so much, Harrington?”

Billy’s giving him an odd look, and his face has changed. It’s got a predatory look on it, not unlike how it looked during basketball games.

“I dunno, I-I just do Billy?”

Billy walks his fingers up Steve’s arm, stretching his digits between steps taking an exaggeratedly slow route. 

He has a visceral reaction to the contact. His heart starts to speed up, and his awareness is suddenly honed in like a hawk on his forearm. Somewhere left in his brain, there must be one brain cell remaining, desperately trying to steer him away from disaster. Maybe this is a warning that he’s in peril. Maybe instinctively his body had programed in contact with Billy to mean: physical demise. 

“Well— I’m not sure Steve, can you think of someone that might meet my requirements?”

His voice is dripping with a tainted sweetness. Like a pumpkin left out in the sun after Halloween, the meaty flesh incensing the air. 

Steve swallows, but his mouth is dry. It’s kinda like cotton mouth after you smoke too much weed, but the onset of this is much faster, and usually he’s pretty drooly when he’s drunk, so he’s not quite sure where all his spit went.

Again— maybe his body knows better than he does. 

“The clocks ticking Harrington… anyone at all coming to mind?”

Steve continues to stare blankly at him. His mind is truly doing its damnedest to come up with something.

Billy pinches Steve’s upper arm, and it causes him to jump a little in his chair. 

The thing is, Steve’s not the most graceful on a good day. 

Billy's made fun of him for that. His balance is centered somewhere random apparently, and this has caused his physicality to be a bit of a mystery. Add a more than generous serving of alcohol to the mix, and this is why Steve is midair falling to the floor.

The stool comes crashing down as Steve falls, and from above Billy is audibly losing it with laughter.

Steve manages to kinda roll into the fall saving himself from any real damage save a bruised ego. 

Subconsciously, maybe this was his body’s best reaction to the question he didn’t know how to answer. 

Billy crouches down next to him placing one hand on his shoulder.

“Y’know you’re quite the drunk damsel, Harrington. Come to think of it, you’re not a King at all, you’re a Princess.”

Steve can feel himself blushing, and the whole situation seems so absurd. It’s like he’s suddenly flung from his body and can see everything from a bird’s eye perspective. 

He’s literally drunk himself under the table at a bar on his Birthday with Billy Hargrove.

It should be really, really humiliating. 

But it isn’t at all.

“I’m not a Princess.” he kinda mumbles out.

Billy takes his hand into his own.

“You live in a castle, check.”

He runs his thumb into the palm of Steve’s hand and circles it around lightly. 

“You have a court of adoring commoners— well, that one used to be a check, but I guess not so much anymore.”

Steve scowls at him, and goes to jab back, but Billy puts a finger over his mouth again.  
His finger is a little rough on Steve’s lips, but it’s also warm and providing a pleasant pressure. 

“You’re the fairest maiden in the land.” 

Billy locks eyes with him.

“Check.”

A number of things happen very fast.

Steve goes to say something, because that seems like the thing to do, but Billy’s finger is still pressed to his mouth. This causes Steve to kinda—

To kinda wetly kiss Billy’s finger.

Unintentionally.

Billy makes a throaty breathy sound that lasts only a moment. 

It still registers in Steve’s brain though.

That fleeting, needy, sexy admission of pleasure.

It’s evil how telling desire can be. 

Billy removes his finger, but keeps staring straight into Steve’s soul.

“Ask me again.”

He wants to play dumb so badly. To pretend to need to clarify ‘what am I asking?’. Change the subject, or maybe just sick up on himself to avoid everything altogether. 

Steve also wants to know— needs to know, really, needs to know who Billy actually wants. 

There’s a whiteboard in the video store tallying every strikeout, every failed conversation, every snide rejection Billy’s ever given. 

He’s given it to pretty girls, tall girls, short girls, cheerleaders, punks— no one can win with him.

So it’s in the name of science and medicine that Steve musters up the courage to ask: “Is there anyone in Hawkins you're interested in Billy?” 

Billy kisses him like a sucker punch. 

He kisses like he’s running on borrowed time speeding down the interstate in his Camaro. It’s a kiss that screams about wasted opportunities, and youth gone by.

His face is rough and stubbly against Steve’s skin, but his mouth is so soft and wet. It’s a strange dichotomy for him to wrap his head around, but a decidedly enjoyable one. None of his previous kissing partners had ever had even the slightest stubble. Nancy’s face was as smooth as a baby’s. 

He likes it though. He likes it a lot. 

It takes him a moment, but Steve starts to kiss back. To move his mouth harmoniously into the ministrations. To figure out how to reciprocate a kiss in the non-dominant position. 

Billy’s hands snake around to cradle Steve’s head, providing ample leverage to deepen the kiss. 

Billy’s tongue swipes over Steve’s lips like a vampire asking for permission to enter a home.

He happily obliges, and Billy tastes— interesting. 

Spit kinda ubiquitously tastes the same, but there’s hints of different flavors dancing round the tip of his tongue.

The warm bread flavor of beer, and the subtlest tingle of menthol, possibly from the cigarettes Billy smokes. 

Steve wonders what he tastes like to Billy. 

It’s a rather bizarre thing to get self conscious about in the throws of passion, but it’s definitely knocking around his head.

He fights off the urge to break away and ask, because he is genuinely curious about it, but he’s not sure what will happen when he does breakaway. It’s so uncharacteristically intimate, and he doesn’t really want to process what’s happening. 

What he wants to do is continue to make Billy let out little sounds of pleasure like he’s currently making. Little dew drops of wanton delight emitting from Billy’s desire for him. 

It’s a very sexy ego trip. To be wanted. 

Billy pulls back a fraction of an inch catching his breath. Both their air mingling into a humid cloud, the flush on Billy’s cheek becoming apparent. 

“Fuck, Billy” Steve says, a little too briskly because this is all so crazy. There’s a gum encrusted tabletop above their heads, and Billy’s jeans are doing a terrible job of hiding his arousal, and it’s just- so, so much.

Billy tenses immediately and his face hardens. 

And this is an exemplary reminder that Steve has terrible timing.

Robin always said it was his biggest downfall, not the quality of his phrases or pickup lines, but rather when he chose to deliver them. 

Steve snakes his arms around Billy’s back and rubs little patterns across his muscled skin. Billy’s like a human radiator, the heat coming off him in lazy waves. 

“Fuck, Billy.” he says again, this time letting it drop a bit lower and live a bit breathier, walk a little slower. Billy’s body language relaxes once more and he rewards him with a grin. 

Billy sucks on his earlobe, worrying the flesh between his teeth.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this Harrington?” He breathes into his neck the air damp on his skin, “How long I’ve wanted to see what you look like when you come apart.”

Steve’s never felt so turned on in his life, it’s like every peak of his body is dancing with electricity. Every inch of him begging for whatever Billy is willing to give him. He’s shaking a little, like a shiver from the cold.

It should be embarrassing, but this whole night has been such a fall from grace. A debauchery of what he once perceived himself to be, that in comparison it doesn’t feel bad at all. 

“How long, Billy?” Steve whispers, neck arched to give him as much access as possible. 

Billy bites above his collarbone and sucks hard, tongue lathing over skin adoringly.

“From the moment I saw you, chasing around girl after girl to no avail, it was torture for me, thought there was no way I could have you, no chance—“, his hand grips Steve’s ass and squeezes, and between everything going on and the friction in his jeans Steve has to focus on not climaxing right there, “But here we are.”

Billy kisses him again all teeth and bites and too much tongue, and lets his body gyrate rhythmically into him, hand massaging over Steve’s butt.

Steve lets his hands explore more of Billy. Lets himself indulge in the act of touching. 

Billy breaks their kiss and creates the tiniest gap between them. His eyes are hooded in a way that should be marked as explicit as he breathes over Steve’s face.

But there’s time for that later, so Steve chases back and reignites the kiss. He lets his tongue search out Billy’s mouth this time, and is rewarded with the telltale vibrations of pleasure buzzing throughout Billy’s body.

“Such a fucking tease Harrington, wasting yourself on all these backwoods bitches.” Billy says nipping at Steve’s mouth.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Steve huffs out, half from annoyance and half from arousal. 

“Gimme a good reason to and I might, pretty boy.” 

Billy’s hands are still gripping Steve’s lower back, but he dips one hand between his jeans and his body, and that’s- that’s too much for any sane person to handle.

Steve writhes against Billy with full wanton abandon as Billy clenches his hand. Their tongues in a romantic battle for dominance. 

Billy’s hand travels farther south, and a finger firmly presses against the jersey of Steve’s boxers probing against his hole.

And that’s when, Steve can’t help it. Can’t help being a human with a normal sex drive, and reacting to things like a regular Joe. 

He cums in his pants bucking freely against Billy’s crotch with a long moan not unlike a sob. 

Billy’s pupils are blown out as he slows the rhythm to a gradual halt before breaking the kiss and looking at Steve panting slightly. 

“Did you just cream your pants for me?” he asks grinning. 

In the bright clarity post orgasming brings, the mortifying nature of the scenario begins to fully creep up on Steve.

It’s— it’s just so virginal to cum in your pants from a kiss and some heavy touching. 

But maybe this is a loose use of heavy touching, because things were getting pretty heavy. Maybe too heavy for that classification. Regardless, he’s still in an uncomfortably sticky situation— literally. 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” he ends up saying flatly, because there’s really no point in denying it. 

Billy’s face is impossibly smug as he quickly unbuttons the top of Steve’s jeans and dips his hand below the elastic, fingers smearing around the still warm sperm as he cups his dick. 

Steve jerks his body a little and makes a sound. He’s still sensitive from climaxing so recently. 

Billy’s eyebrow cocks up suggestively. 

“Can’t believe how wet you got for me.” he says as he rubs his hand around, fingers twisting playfully in Steve’s pubes.

“All this for me,” He tugs a bit on his hair, “only for me. Nancy Wheeler ever do this to you?” He asks bringing his hand to his face before sucking each digit into his mouth.

It should be disgusting, but if Steve’s being honest with himself— he’d definitely have cum again if it were physically possible. 

“Jeez man, could you leave Nancy the fuck outta this? I’m glad to not be thinking about her right now seeing as I’m all, uh- y-you know.” He gestures to his evidently debauched state.

“No Wheeler talk in the bedroom then? I suppose I can oblige that,” Billy says giving him a wicked smile, “now we gotta get you home and cleaned up before anyone sees you like this, birthday boy”

“What, is my hair messed up?”

Billy laughs at him.

“I don’t think your hair is what you need to concern yourself with right now.”

Steve runs a hand through it anyways, trying to quaff back up the sections deflated by his fall from grace. 

Billy just watches him, that same contemplative look once again gracing his face. 

“Hey Billy.” Steve says after a moment. 

“What?”

“Thank you— really.” 

A moment passes before Billy responds, and for a beat Steve thinks he might not at all, but then he grins and nods. 

“Don’t worry about it. You can settle your tab tomorrow, but this,” He points to the wet stain inked across Steve’s crotch, “that’s on the house”

With a wink he’s walking behind the bar again, punching buttons on the register haphazardly, clearly rushing through the motions of his closing routine. 

Steve glances at the clock on the far wall.

Just after one AM.

His birthday was officially over for better or worse. 

Maybe Robin was cozy with the love of her life right now. Maybe the dweebs were deep in a walkie-talkie debate over some magic bullshit. Maybe Jonathan and Nancy were holding hands watching some arthouse movie at a tragically rundown movie theatre in New York. 

Maybe everyone was blissfully wrapped up in their own lives the same way Steve was with his.

He’s not really focused on that right now. He’s got a new distraction that's proving to be extremely worthwhile. 

Billy returns to the table after switching off the lights behind the counter, now wearing a well worn leather jacket.

Billy’s always looked good in leather jackets, but right now he looks downright sinful. Steve would look like a try-hard in one, but Billy makes it look so effortlessly cool. Kinda like a movie star.

“What's the plan Harrington? Where am I dropping yah?”

Steve smirks a bit remembering that Billy had commandeered his keys earlier. Who cares, he can grab his wheels tomorrow.

“Definitely my place” he says.

“Birthday boy’s really ready for bed so soon?”

“Not exactly. My parents are out of town, you know. Whole house to myself. Pool, big TV-- all of it. Maybe we could, uh… hang out?”

Billy tugs him in for a chaste kiss.

“Sounds like a date, Princess.”

Driving in Billy’s car while pleasantly drunk feels a bit like flying. Hawkins rushing by in long exposed streams of color contrasting the blackness of night. Being with Billy also feels a bit like flying. 

And thats, somehow, how Billy Hargrove, resident douchebag, and total jerk saved Steve’s birthday.

It’s a nice feeling to feel like you’re flying.

**Author's Note:**

> Another submission to my heartaches!!! The last fic I wrote I said I'd riot if they killed Billy. Turns out I'm a LIAR, and instead of rioting I'm just pretending they didn't kill my boy. 
> 
> Big love to my lifelong pal/editor Nat Fraction for fixing my writing into something coherent. 
> 
> Also can we talk about how good Joe's album is??? bummed AF that he cancelled the Brooklyn shows :"(
> 
> If u so please my Instagram is the same name as I am on here, I'm a fashuuuun designer >:)


End file.
